Sturmey Archer’s Slipped Cogs


Sunday January 12th:

NastyArseshur: “…wedding bells in Ambridge! Ooooo, I can’t wait!”
BaconBoy: “…me neither!”

RestofWorld: “…is there an echo in here?” :face_with_raised_eyebrow::thinking:


I was driving home from Mass at the time

Note to self:
Do not listen to TA when in charge ovvan vehicule …

'nother note to self:
Provide suitable receptacles in which to throw up



What I don’t understand (Inspector) is why that wet week Windy Miller didn’t just stab TomTit through the eye with a fork. Or a rose stem.

“I’ve always loved roses and chrysanthemums”. That’s nice, dear. But seldom in the same bunch, surely.


Totally weird, their reciting marriage vows to each other. Tom’s worried about Natasha spending all their money and Kirsty about Philip’s health, I suppose.


Because it would miss his brain by about three feet


oh joe, you’re so practical, dere.


But think of how artistic the crime scene photos would be!


…I thought the same, and am still trying to fathom that one out, as well as flushing the very thought from this demented mind with copious amounts of adult-beverages, and several bales of good baccy! :thinking::thinking::thinking::thinking::thinking::thinking:


“Do we want the SOCOs or NAFAS, guv?”


Well, someone has to be. She’d only go to Helen for advice, as usual–even knowing that her technique isn’t particularly effective.


NAFAS, of course. SOCO did enough damage before…


…endless discussions of photies in excruciating detail ensues! (…be careful what you wish for, me owd sparra!)


Werl, I’m used to that, being an innocent bird who happens to have a number of friends wot are profoundly misunderstood by the legal system…


A fitting end for Twonk would be trussed with an apple rammed in his gob


And, in a nod to Eastern culinary traditions and in the spirit of fusion food, the fat end of a pineapple up the other end of his alimentary tract.


…oh no! (…memories of stuck-piggy, then spit-roast, then Sodom&Begorrah… …exits, screaming…) :nauseated_face::nauseated_face::nauseated_face::nauseated_face::nauseated_face::nauseated_face::face_vomiting::face_vomiting::face_vomiting::face_vomiting::face_vomiting::face_vomiting::face_vomiting:


High political office surely beckons…



I hope you have a wire on that pineapple to s-l-o-o-o-o-o-wl-y pull it out


Mais naturellement. But you’re not expecting me to eat it after that, are you?


…a wire attached to the pin, of course! (…at least I hope that’s what you mean!) :open_mouth::open_mouth::open_mouth: